


Empty Mugs

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Children of Earth Compliant, M/M, Merlin is actually Merlin, Miracle Day? What Miracle Day?, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men in our position? We send friends to their death more than anyone should ever have to. And men <i>like</i> us? It’s not just friends we deliver into death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Mugs

_**January 9th, 2010** _

He found him at the seediest bar he’d ever been to, slumped over a trail of empty mugs, eyes glazed over in the closest he’d ever seen the man come to a stupor, heavy woolen coat wrapped around him like a shield. It was the worst he’d ever seen the man look, the worst he’d ever imagined he might see him look, and it tugged at something in his chest. His heart, he thought. A sharp pang of sorrow echoing that which washed out from the other man in waves. His lips thinning, he slid into the seat beside the man, calling to the barkeep for a drink of his own. As he waited for it, without looking over, he commented;

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to commit suicide via alcohol poisoning.”

A bitter snort was his answer, as the man threw back the rest of his glass. The thud of the mug hitting the counter followed, a call to ‘make that two, on _his_ tab,’ and then there were dark eyes turning to look at him.

“It’s not like it would matter if I did.”

He didn’t have to look to know the haunted look he’d find in those blue, blue eyes if he did. The grief weighed his voice down, his tone laced with guilt, wracked with self loathing. Merlin scoffed.

“It _would_ matter, and you know it. What would Ia-”

“ _Don’t_.” Sharp, quick, angry. Full of pain, and rage, and unyielding. “ _Don’t_ talk about him. You don’t have the _right_ -”

“Oh I don’t, don’t I?” One eyebrow arched, and as the barkeep returned with two sloshing mugs, Merlin waved the man off, took a long drink from one of them, and snorted a little as he set it back down. “And why exactly have I lost that right?” He paused, leaning back on his stool, and added, his voice soft, “You weren’t the only one who lost a friend that day, you know.”

“ _He wasn’t my **friend**_.” Guilt again, and more anger, the words a snarl. It consumed the other man, had been eating at him for months, more than it ever had been. Six months, to the day, Merlin thought, sighing inwardly. The other man’s mug was lifted, then, almost half of it drowned in a go, and glass crashed down yet again. He had a feeling it was a miracle there weren’t scattered shards of broken mugs all over the counter.

“You’re wrong.” A simple rebuttal, a thoughtful silence and sip from his mug. He licked his lips, continuing, “He was more than that, aye, but he was more a friend to you than anyone else I’ve seen, myself included.” Because while he counted the man a good friend in his own right, one of the few that he knew he would never truly lose, it wasn’t nearly the same. They were friends by virtue of circumstance, of a shared affliction. What he’d shared with the man he’d lost-

“You don’t send your _friends_ to their deaths.” His words were bitter, caustic, acidic enough to burn if you let them. Merlin shook his head.

“Wrong again.” He inhaled deeply, bracingly, perhaps. “Men in our position? We send friends to their death more than anyone should ever have to. And men _like_ us?” Another sip. If something like sorrow underlaid his next words, neither of them mentioned it. “It’s not just friends we deliver into death, and we’ll never _stop_. We _can’t_ stop, no matter how much we want to.”

Silence reigned, no matter the white noise of the bar behind them. It was a shared grief that overtook them. Merlin drank slowly from his mug, as his companion downed three more drinks before he spoke again.

“I’m done.”

“How so?” He was calm, a stark contrast to the other’s shaking, and it was also a miracle that his friend could still sit straight, could still speak, even, with how much he’d had. If he collapsed, Merlin would be ready. He was prepared to take him to his own home, would set him to bed in his own room to sleep it off. Or, as the case might be at this point, to wait for his revival.

“I’m leaving. Tomorrow.”

“So yer running away, then?” He couldn’t find it within him to be surprised. He should have expected it, even. He knew who his friend had learned from, knew that he’d learned from a man who never stopped running himself. Yet still, “What about Gw-”

“She’ll be fine. Better off without me.” The man stood with the statement. Shook himself, and swayed on his feet. Looked straight at Merlin, and added; “Don’t come looking for me again. You won’t find me. Not for a few centuries, at least.”

And then he was gone, turned and out the bar door.

Merlin stood, threw a handful of notes onto the sticky counter, more than enough to cover the empty mugs strewn about it. As he watched the door settle after the other man, he sighed quietly, “Oh it won’t take that long. Ye’ll be back before you know it, Jack.”

* * *

_**February 15th, 2015** _

It had been five years since he’d been to this particular bar, but he knew before he walked through the doors what he’d find. Or, more accurately, _who_ he’d find. What his friend was going through, the grief that was settled onto the heavy shoulders stooped over a single mug at the counter, was something he knew intimately. He settled onto the seat beside him, called for two drinks from the barkeep, and commented;

“Been awhile, huh?”

A scoff answered him, along with, “By yer own choice, aye, it has.”

Not that five years was all that long by _either_ of their standards. Five years was a drop in the bucket when you were effectively immortal.

Two glasses were set on the counter before him and Jack took one, taking a sip as the barkeep scuttled away. He grimaced at the taste before setting it back down, and, judging by the short, sharp laugh that escaped the other man, he knew his friend had seen the look.

“I seem ta remember ye drinking a lot more than tha’ last time ye sat here.”

“Actually,” he answered, pushing the mug away, “I was sitting a few seats down.” A pause, another face, and he added, “I was also used to the shit beer they serve on this planet. A few years away, and my tastebuds have grown a little more discerning.”

Well, okay, some of the things he’d all but lived (or _died_ ) on while away were a great deal worse than what sat in the glass before him, but that wasn’t the point. The _point_ was-

“So what brings ye back to our backwater planet then? Clearly it wasn’t the drink.”

There was tease on his tongue that maybe he just couldn’t resist the other man’s handsome face, and he barely bit it back. It wasn’t the right time. In lieu of answering, or maybe _as_ an answer, he said, voice carefully quiet,

“I heard about Harry.”

The mug in front of his companion came up, as the man tossed back the last of it before pushing it aside and reaching for the second one without a word. Jack inhaled, let the air out again, his tone sincere when he continued; “I’m sorry. For whatever it’s worth.”

It wasn’t worth a damn, and they both knew it. Merlin had said it perfectly on that day five years ago. Men like them... Jack licked his lips, reached for his mug and dragged it back, sipping at it once more. His grimace brought a soft snort from the man beside him.

“If ye don’t like it, leave it. I’ll drink it myself.” It was almost an order, given after a deep drink from his mug, and Jack rolled his eyes. With the way the other man’s accent was slowly thickening...

“I’d say you don’t need it, but-”

“That’d be a bit hypocritical of ye, wouldn’t it?” There was an eyebrow arching at him in something like disbelief. “Do ye remember the tab ye left me with last time? It’s a good thing I’ve got deep pockets, or I would’ve hunted ye down whether ye’d taken off already or not.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a hundred percent serious about that?”

“It’s because ye know me well enough to know I don’t make idle threats. If ye think I don’t have ways ta track ye down no matter what planet yer on, ye’ve got a lot to learn.”

“You and the Doctor both,” Jack snorted in return, rolling his eyes. “Have I ever mentioned that the two of you should never be allowed on the same planet at the same time?” He paused, as Merlin smirked, before adding, “Either that, or someone should lock the two of you in a room together with nothing except-”

“Bit too late for that,” the other interrupted. “The man’s been on Earth more times than I care to count over the last few centuries. We’ve never got on very well; he tends ta stay out of my way, and tha’ works out perfectly for me. He’s a bit of a coward for my tastes.”

And he wasn’t even going to argue with that, because as much as he loved the Time Lord, he also knew how right Merlin was. Instead of arguing, he reached over and carefully tugged the half full mug from his friend’s hands, pushing it out of reach. Then, as carefully as he could, he asked quietly;

“Have you sent anyone to bring him home yet?”

He didn’t need to clarify who he meant. Merlin shook his head in answer.

“Go home, Merlin.” It wasn’t an order, and his voice was soft, but neither was it a suggestion. “Go home and get some rest. You’ve had a busy few days.”

“Jack-”

“I’ll go to Kentucky; I’ll sound less out of place than any of the others, and you all need some time to yourselves. I’ll bring him home to you.”

Silence fell between them, hazel eyes meeting blue, a wordless exchange between men who understood each other perfectly. Then the wizard was nodding. Jack stood, fished out his wallet and threw a handful of notes on the counter, enough to cover the three mugs sitting there. As he turned to leave, Merlin’s voice halted him.

“There’s a few seats empty at the table. When ye bring him home, if ye’d like…” The offer trailed off, clear even unfinished.

He thought of the last time he’d been on Earth. He thought of the team he’d built, the team he’d carefully cultivated, a team made of broken hearts that he’d watched beat once again as they were given new life.

He thought of gunshots ringing out, of a body falling to the dock devoid of life once more. He thought of a still body on a cold slab, an open wound unhealing, a broken body that wouldn’t stop. He thought of a slight form laying in his arms, blood staining the floor, glassy eyes turning lifeless.

He thought of another man limp in his arms. He thought of poisoned air, and the salty sting of tears. He thought of a last confession, denied. Of a promise to last a thousand years.

He shook his head.

“I’m not much of a team player.”

And he left, never hearing the soft words that followed him.

“Ye say that now, Jack, but ye can’t deny it forever. Ye’ll be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're on tumblr, you can find me at [MakethWoman](http://makethwoman.tumblr.com)!


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